Posts Tagged With: nude beach

Nude Across America Pt.17: Lake Willoughby

2021-06-29

We know that Lake Willoughby’s free beach is on the south side of the lake. It isn’t difficult to find they say. We drive past, we drive back. We ask a guy by the side of the road, “Where’s the nude beach? “

“You’re here.” His further directions are “Keep to the left, of the left.”

The parking lot is full. We are lucky to find a spot near the entrance, or just off the road.  We get out of our little Honda and slip into kilt and sundress.

We haven’t gone but a few feet and are walking with probably a bit of an aimless expression.  We ask a guy (yea, again) to make sure.

“I’m heading there now. You can follow me if you like.”

He’s local and tells us that he comes here “all of the time.”

As we had wandered lost, we had seen a beach right next to this. We saw it filled with people, but they were all in clothing. It looked like this was the case here, but as we arrive, several people assure us with their own example.

The local Good Sam finds his local friends and we smile a parting, walking on to explore.  We are out to find our niche and to get a better idea of where we are, and what goes on.

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2020 Ziploite #11: Last HAhrrah!

Feb. 2020

 

The airline cancelled our flight. The choice was on the beach in Zipolite, or cooped up in a hotel in Mexico City.

We’ve got an extra day in Zipolite! We weren’t ready yet, so says the cosmos. The lesson to learn is about surrender to what is and trusting in the divine hand of grace doing whatever it will. Well, through rearranging a slew of reservations on a phone/internet system that wouldn’t cooperate in my Spanish and dashing the class that DF was to take that Sunday, it was figured out that accepting was the best tactic. I’ve been stranded in much worse places than this paradise.

The extra time, well spent, is sure to work out correctly.

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2020 Zipolite: A hike in Cometa Preserve

2020-02-25

 

We’re in Zipolite Oaxaca, Mexico

Dawn…it’s colored peach again.

We meet our neighbor from the next room next door. He has offered us a tour of what he describes as a particularly special place, to him. He guarantees that we will thank him profusely, once we make our visit.

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2020 Zipolite #7 : A Romantic Dinner

2020-02-25

 

We’re in Zipolite, Oaxaca, Mexico.

DF and I spend the early afternoon in our quarters, sleeping and listening to the pound of the waves on the beach.  After siesta, we take care of our bills and slip on some light clothing, she a thin dress and me a sarong. We plan to have a snack and walk nude on the beach for sunset.

We stop at a familiar restaurant. It is still too early to open. We’ll come back later. A block up the street there is another place that we know. We have a torta filled with baked veggies together.

We snap a few pictures along the way and then take the first alley to the beach, stopping at the end to disrobe. It is liberation to drop all and wander out onto the public beach. We pass a few kindred souls. Dogs play, frisbees are passed and soccer balls bounce. Everyone has an activity.

The ocean sneaks up on us a couple of times and recedes, leaving the bubbling tiny holes of crabs. We take opportunities to capture photos of the sunset and our joy.

“Where are we going?”

“I don’t know. We’ll know when we get there. As far as we can, I guess.”

The sentiment is returned. We stroll off free ranging naked hand in hand.

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2020 Zipolite #2: Look Ma, No Hands!

There I was no sh…

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2020 Zipolite #1: A Morning in Zipolite

I have been away. I have been on a beach writing. I have much to catch up with. The stories of Zipolite will not come at a usual pace, and most will not read like my more familiar “Trip Report” format. I’ll probably just use the material like salt and pepper sprinkled into my list of other free range wanderings. This is the first, a haphazard #1, in a series.

At About Sunrise:

DF has run off to a yoga class with a new acquaintance. I don’t follow instructions well. Keep me out of a ballroom dancing class. I stay behind to my own devices.

I take my sarong down to that gentle slope which falls to the waves, where they hit the beach.

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